The Life & Lies of Becca Curtis: A Sister Story
by Insert A Username Here Please
Summary: What if Darry was an abusive drunk, Pony was the anti-dreamer, and Soda was...still Soda? And what if the Curtis brother's had a sister? A lonely, fifteen-year-old sister who didn't know if she could take much more until she bonded with Dallas Winston.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: What if Darry was an abusive drunk, Ponyboy was not a dreamer, but the anti-dreamer, and Soda was…well, still Soda? And what if the Curtis brothers had a sister? A depressed, absent sister who cut herself, and had no one to turn to until she bonded with the hardened Dallas Winston?

Rated T for drug & alcohol references, and language - the rating WILL change as the story progresses.

Darry and Pony are, as of now, OOC. Soda is still himself. I will try my very hardest to capture his personality, but I'm doubtful that I will ever be able to perfect the Sodapop S.E. Hinton made a reality. :] [The same applies for Dally, btw.]

Please enjoy;

-

"Dammit, Becca, you gotta spend the night at my house. Forget about them damn brother's of yours for a day and come over," Nancy persuaded.

Nancy Beverly was my wonderful, charming, completely unknowing best friend. As far as she was concerned, there weren't bruises, tinged an ugly yellow, lining my body. She was hardly aware of my brother's, for that matter. She just knew I had some of them.

She didn't know about Pony. Gloomy, absent Ponyboy who you would never know was there if he didn't come to the table for dinner. He sat up in that damn room of his, all day, all night. Sure, he came home with decent grades, which was pretty much what kept Darry from beating the tar out of him, but he wasn't "there." He wasn't the dreamy Ponyboy I knew as a young girl.

Oh man, Darry. Ever since mom and dad died he'd been the worst of all. I missed him, too. He used to be sweet and decent, although a bit too hardened at times. But he used to care. He didn't anymore. He beat me half to death over the slightest offense. Come to think of it, if Soda wasn't around, he'd probably have killed me by now. The only time he occasionally stopped was if Sodapop walked into the room and objected. Of course, that only worked if he wasn't too drunk to be reasoned with.

Soda…. He was the only one who's personality hadn't shifted in response to our parent's deaths. He was still the cheery, life-savoring Soda I'd known and loved throughout my entire childhood. I was glad he was around. I was glad he hadn't changed. If he had…I could only shudder at the thought of how much worse off I'd be.

"Hello, goddamn it, Becca, you listening to me?" Nancy snapped, waving her hand furiously an inch from my face.

To assure her I had kept my ears perked, I wrinkled my nose slightly and nodded.

"Yeah, yeah, Nancy, I was listening to you. But you know I can't come over." I shivered delicately as the rest of my sentence came flowing off my tongue. "Darry'll skin me alive if I don't come home. You know that."

Nancy groaned disappointedly and shook her head, allowing her strawberry blonde hair to come rushing into her eyes.

"You don't do nothing anymore, Becca." She hesitated. "You don't go out, you don't come over. All you're allowed to do is study on weekdays and walk around in the sunlight on weekends. What's Darry's problem?"

_If only I could tell…_I thought warily.

"Nothing," I said snippily. "He's just overprotective, that's all. Don't complain. If we all got split up I'd probably never see you again," I reminded her.

Nancy nodded her frizzy head, realizing there was truth in my words.

"All right," she agreed, glancing at the sky. The sunset was beginning to vanish from the clouds, so I knew that meant I had to get home. "Just talk to Darry, all right? Try to get yourself a little more freedom. I'll talk to ya'll tomorrow."

I smirked bitterly and stood up as Nancy did. We'd been hanging in the vacant lot during the day. It had become our hang out over the past few months. It used to be Johnny and Pony's spot, the place they claimed "their own", but they hadn't been talking much lately. The only time Johnny came over was if his parent's quarreled, which was often. And even then Pony didn't speak to him much.

"Want me to walk you home?" Nancy offered. "Ya know the Soc's have been jumping us Greaser's much more often."

"Nah," I said, declining politely. "The Soc's don't' jump me much, being a girl and all. There was only that once…" My voice slipped away dreamily. For a split second, I vaguely thought about the time I'd been jumped, about a month ago. The attack had gained me a few bruises and a cut or two, but it was a pretty mild beating.

"You sure?" Nancy insisted.

I nodded again, assuring her, and she gave me a quick half-hug before strolling off.

Almost hoping that I was jumped, I turned and walked in the opposite direction. My house was only down the block, but it still seemed to take a while to get there. The journey was long and bitter, probably because I always dreaded coming home.

Once I got to my house, Soda was sitting on the porch steps, looking anxious.

"Darn you, Rebecca, you're late," he scolded.

I shrugged and peered quickly at the sky.

"Only by a couple minutes or so."

"But you know how our brother is…," Soda reminded me, a nervous smile etched onto his face. "Just get on inside and hope Darry isn't in a sore mood."

-

So was that good? :P

Sorry, the beginning is always boring. Please review, and I'll post the next chapter ASAP, because I'm pretty sure I want to continue this. :]


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two! :]

Enjoy. [:

Recap:

"_But you know how our brother is…," Soda reminded me, a nervous smile etched onto his face. "Just get on inside and hope Darry isn't in a sore mood."_

_-_

I nodded understandingly, and Soda led me inside. The house had a cold, eerie feeling to it. I had familiarized myself with the feeling over the months. It always seemed to rush up against me when the night ahead was looking dreary.

"Dammit," Soda murmured, wincing slightly as his bare feet treaded over shattered beer bottles. "Darry's been drinking."

I sighed and nodded my head. I had expected that. Secretly, I often hoped that Darry was drunk out of his mind. Although he was slightly more violent, he always seemed to pass out before he got a chance to hurt me too badly, rather than when he was completely sober and in control of himself.

"Where is he?" I whispered, referring to Darry as Soda protectively brought me to my room. Me and Darry were the only two with rooms of our own. Soda and Pony shared one, although they had divided it in half. Soda often slept on the bare floor.

"I dunno," Soda muttered, widening my doorway as I stepped in. "But you got off lucky, Re—"

"REBECCA!" Darry's voice echoed from the living room, fierce and slurred. I winced, and Soda patted my shoulder.

"Looks like your luck just ran out." He smiled bleakly and gently nudged me out of my room. "Best not ignore him. Don't worry, I'll be on your side."

I heaved a sigh of nervous exasperation and retreated to the living room, with Soda following closely behind me.

The living room was dark, besides the lamp illuminating Darry's handsome, violent face in the corner of the room. I swallowed anxiously and took a step into the dim light.

"Hey, Darry," I said nervously. If I was by my lonesome, I'd be stammering my words. But fortunately, Soda was behind me, so the scene was slightly less frightening.

"Where the f-fuuck were y-youu?" Darry slurred. Although he seemed extremely drunk, he wasn't spluttering much. He seemed to have gotten used to being drunk, to a point where he had taught himself to speak somewhat fluently.

"I was in the lot, Darry," I told him.

"Yeah, Darry, I was with her," Soda lied, backing me up before the fight could blaze to life. "She was only late by a minute or so…."

"But youuu were s-still l-late!" Darry screamed, standing up from his chair. "Y-you know the rules, B-Becca, I want your ass home before d-dark!"

"Calm down, Darry," Soda intervened. "She's tired, Darry. We're all tired. Why don't you save this squabble for tomorrow morning?"

Darry glared at Soda for a moment, his eyes viscous.

"Shut yer' f-fucking mouth, Ssssodapop!" he shouted.

I stumbled back as Darry came towards me, his muscles bulging through his white shirt. It was a shame he was built so well. Maybe if he wasn't it wouldn't hurt as much when he hit me.

"Darry, don't—" Soda began hopefully.

Before Soda could finish, I felt a hard crack against my cheek and fell backwards, my back colliding with the cold floor and the shattered glass.

I winced painfully as the shards pierced my skin through my clothing. Fortunately, I was wearing Soda's shirt, rather than Darry's, so I wouldn't get hit for cutting it to bits.

"Darry!" Soda shouted, helping me off the ground and wiping my bloodied back. "Darry, just hold off, okay?! She ain't done anything wrong. It was just a mistake—"

"I told ya'll to sh-shhuut up, S-Soda!" Darry replied furiously. "Keep 'yer lips shut, ya got it, k-kid!? This is between me and B-Beccaaa."

Suddenly, just as Darry was about to make his second strike, the kitchen door opened, and Ponyboy came strolling in.

All of us froze, including Darry. This action shocked us, because Pony never left his room, excluding dinner time and bathroom breaks.

Fortunately for me, Pony's action seemed to have shocked Darry out of his violent state, because he slammed his shoulder against mine as he left, retreating to his room.

Soda smiled shakily and brought me back to my room. I favored his smile. Pony had been right when he'd described Soda as having "movie star" good looks. His face seemed to glow, hypnotizing me before he nudged me into my bed.

"Get some sleep, kid," he suggested. "Tomorrow's Sunday. I'll treat you to a movie."

I nodded and smiled, allowing my eyelids to slither closed.

Soda covered my body with the comforter and turned to leave, but stopped for a moment.

"Don't worry 'bout Darry. He doesn't mean it," he explained. "I think he's just been broken up since mom and dad's death, that's all."

Only half-believing him, I nodded again, not wanting to begin an argument. Soda grinned at me one more time before leaving the room, securing the rickety door behind him.

-

Please review. :]


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3! :] Enjoy;

Recap:

_Only half-believing him, I nodded again, not wanting to begin an argument. Soda grinned at me one more time before leaving the room, securing the rickety door behind him._

-

"Becca, rise and shine, kid!"

I let out a hardly audible groan and rolled over on to my side.

"Five more minutes, Soda!" I called back, throwing the comforter over my disheveled body.

I waited a moment, drifting in and out of consciousness, before I heard the steady _stomp, stomp, _of Soda trudging up the steps. A second later, I heard a shrill creaking, meaning my bedroom door was being opened.

"Wake up, Becca. I want to get to the early showing of the movie, unless you'd rather not go." He smiled at me and raised one dark eyebrow. I squinted crudely at him before groggily sitting up.

"What time is it…?" I half-yawned, standing up on the bare floor and stretching the stiffness out of my previously dormant body.

"It's 'bout nine AM. Not too early," Soda replied, cheerful as usual.

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and reached into the closet, grabbing the first shirt my hand discovered.

"Where's Pony?" I asked, removing my night shirt and replacing it with my borrowed one. I was careful to make sure it was Soda's.

"In his room, as usual," Soda said. I had expected him to say that, but I still felt it polite to ask.

"And Darry?"

Soda made a displeased face.

"Work, 'course," he said.

I sighed and changed my pants. I chose a pair of Pony's. They were too large, and fell off my waist if I didn't hold them up, but they would get me through the day. Besides, I'd be sitting down most of the time in the theatre.

"Remember what I said 'bout Darry last night?" Soda asked. I nodded my head as I cuffed the bottom of my jeans.

"You said he's just broken up about mom and dad," I murmured.

"Right," Soda said. "Speaking of that, I heard him crying this morning, 'round six-thirty. He was getting ready for work and he didn't know anyone else was awake."

I felt a flicker of sympathy, but it faded as one of the bruises on my ankle throbbed.

"Why was he crying?" I asked darkly, brushing my hair into a pony tail and resting it delicately on my left shoulder. My hair was one of the thing's I favored about my appearance. It was long and unusually silky, flowing to the very middle of my back. It was also a rusty color, being a mixture of both red and brunette. I'd always understood where the brown had come from, but the red remained a mystery.

"Dunno," Soda said, blowing a loose strand of hair out of my face. "I just know he was crying. You've gotta consider these things sometimes, Becks. I'm not saying its right how Darry treats you—actually, all of us—but just try to imagine things from his POV."

For a moment, I metaphorically slid into Darry's shoes. I could picture myself, bulky and exhausted, dawdling home from work each afternoon. Sitting down on the couch and grabbing a warm beer off the side table. Attacking the bottle and feeling my grip on reality grow weaker with each sip….

"I can't picture it," I snapped, cutting off my flow of thoughts. "Darry knows how to control himself. Just because he stopped giving a damn…" my voice slipped away as I heard the phone bringing weakly from the kitchen.

"You'd better go on and get that," Soda suggested, heaving a sigh of exasperation. "It might be Nancy."

I knew it was. Nancy was the only Greaser who called us nowadays, unless they were in dire need of help. I missed Two-Bit the most. He always used to brighten my mood with his wisecracks, but they'd been absent from my world for the past few months.

I picked up the phone just as it was fading into its final ring, and Nancy sounded far too eager on the other end.

"Get down here, Becca. And bring that brother of yours, too. Soda. I know ya'll want to come together," she informed me.

I pondered her tone for a moment. As usual, there was nothing lingering in it that pointed to suspicion. She was still completely unknowing of my home life, although she'd only mentioned Soda, which was the only thing that hadn't changed.

"All right," I said, calming her excitement. "Just hold your damn horses." I hesitated for a moment. "Hey, I've got a question…."

Nancy responded to my question with a shrill giggle and a slurred, "Yes?" It sounded like she'd been drinking, but she knew better than to get all boozed up at the movie theatre. She'd cause a scene if she didn't control herself.

"Is anyone down there with you? Two-bit, Johnny…Steve, even?" I asked hopefully. I'd never exactly thought well of Steve. He was too hardened and mischievous for my liking, but he was Soda's best friend, so there had to be something good about him.

"Nah," Nancy replied airily. "Dally dropped by for a while, but he took off a few minutes ago." She paused. "Why d'you ask?"

I bit my lip, suddenly feeling warms tears smear across my eyes. I knew if I looked in the mirror, the blue of my irises would probably be emphasized.

"No reason," I croaked. "See you later, then."

I hung up the phone and sat down at the kitchen table, huddling my face in my hands. I preformed this same few minutes of self-pity almost every morning. I missed my old life. The life full of laughs and fun and freedom. I missed Johnny, and Two-bit, and even Steve…. And Darry and Pony, of course. The old them. I would've missed Dally too, but he was the only Greaser who I hadn't bothered to get to know in the past years. It's not that I didn't want to, it's just that he never seemed to be around at the same time I was.

I wiped my tears as Soda came running downstairs. He tossed me an apple from the fridge, rather than cooking breakfast.

"We gotta go, kid. I'll buy you some food at the movie," he explained.

"Yeah," I agreed, sniffling and taking a nip out of the apple. "Nancy called to rush us."

Soda raised his eyebrows pleasingly and grinned.

"Figured as much. That girl's got a big mouth, you know," he said, chuckling lightly.

I nodded in agreement, but didn't offer my brother even the slightest trace of a grin.

-

Boring, I know. I'm sorry. xP

Please review kindly but honestly. [:


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four! xP

Ah, I realized I've forgotten to put a disclaimer in the last few chapters. Allow me to fix that.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders. S.E. Hinton has been granted those rights. If her characters were mine, Mr. Dallas Winston never would have passed. –fan girl shriek-

Please review. :]

Recap:

_I nodded in agreement, but didn't offer my brother even the slightest trace of a grin._

-

"Hey, Becca, get your ass over here!" Nancy howled, pummeling me with shouts as soon as Soda and I had entered the busy theatre.

"Hey, Nanc," I replied quietly, absently twisting my fingers through my locks. The movie had already begun. Soda was on his way to buy two cokes and a large popcorn, but I wasn't paying anything around me any kind of mind. My thoughts were too far elsewhere.

That is, until Nancy smacked me hard on the back. I suppressed a painful squeal as her swat made my hidden cuts howl in pain.

"Becks, see that guy over there? Damn, he's good-looking, don't ya'll think!?" she croaked, inhaling the liquid in her coke cup. But I knew by the appalling scent on her breath that her "coke" was secretly alcohol.

"Nancy," I murmured, confiding my words underneath my breath. "Don't get all boozed up right now. Lay off the beer."

Soda returned before Nancy was able to reply. He had two cokes, one small and one medium, clutched in his left hand. A bucket of popcorn was in his other.

"Small or large?" he offered, referring to the drinks.

"Small," I answered, scooting over as Soda budged in next to me. We were sharing a seat, only because the rest of the row had been filled up.

"Damn, what's the matter with her?" Soda asked, jerking his head towards Nancy, who was chatting with a couple of Greasers from a separate gang and giggling manically.

"She's been drinking," I muttered. "I told her to lay off the beer, but she's too out of it to pay me any mind."

Soda laughed and smacked Nancy on the back, just as she had done to me minutes ago. "Don't pass out," he advised sarcastically.

Nancy laughed loudly and obnoxiously. I crinkled my nose as her cackling continued throughout the movie. She earned herself dozens of catcalls and jeers within the passing minutes, but she paid them no mind. Thirty or so minutes into the movie, it was too noisy for me to concentrate on the actors in front of my face.

"Soda," I muttered bitterly, squeezing out of our shared seat and standing up, "I'll be outside the theatre."

Soda stared at me for a moment. He seemed concerned, but he nodded.

"All right, Becks. I'll be in here if you need me."

I glared at Nancy out of the corner of my pupils as I exited the theatre. I hated when she got boozed up. She was like Two-Bit, in that sense. Although Two-Bit seemed to control himself better when he drank too much.

There wasn't much to do outside the theatre. There was only a parking lot, filled to the brim with tuff Mustangs, obviously the Soc's, and souped-up Greaser cars. Fortunately for me, the theatre owner had decided to add a couple of rickety tables beside the front doors of the building. Two of them were taken, but one was absent of any people, so I took it upon myself to claim that seat as mine.

For what felt like I long while, I sat there, sipping the empty air out of my coke cup and pondering what my mind had come up with. I'd been thinking of a lot of things lately, most of them being pointless. What was on my mind right now were the Soc's, with their expensive madras shirts and leather shoes. Sometimes I wished I was a Soc. Their lives seemed much easier, and obviously more luxurious, than that of a Greaser, being mine. But, as I'd begun to learn from past experiences, the grass is always greener on the other side….

"Hey Becca, what're you doing out here, all by your lonesome?"

I didn't glance up for a moment. I assumed it was Soda, but once my murky brain had properly registered the voice, I found myself blinking and staring in disbelief.

"Two-Bit?!" I exclaimed. I hadn't seen my sarcastic, wisecracking friend in nearly four months. I kept my eyes set on him for a moment, soaking in his appearance. I'd almost forgotten what he looked like. His hair, normally rusty brown, edging towards dark brown, as far as I could recall, was unnaturally bright colored. I assumed that had been from the sun, beating down on his head during the summer. I wouldn't know, because I hadn't seen him. His irises were big and brown and had that laid-back look to them, which I happened to remember. There was no red tinge to the white of his eyes, so I guessed he hadn't been drinking much, but he _was_ awfully good at disguising it. Come to think of it, although I'd never really noticed before, Two-Bit was pretty damn good-looking.

"Hey, Becks," he replied, looking slightly self-conscious for a moment. "What is it? Is there something in my hair?" He rubbed the palm of his hand on his greased head for a moment, as if trying to rid his hair of any imperfection.

I laughed and slapped at his hand, which was now coated in a light cover of hair grease. "Don't worry, Two-Bit, I was just shocked, that's all. You're lookin' great, as always."

Two-Bit smiled at the compliment, revealing his teeth for a split second, then transformed his grin back into his usual half-smirk.

"You too, Becca." He hesitated. "What's been going on lately?"

"Nothing. Just the usual," I lied, crossing my fingers behind my back. Although I knew luck was a stupid thing to believe in, I was extremely superstitious. I figured if I crossed my fingers Two-Bit wouldn't realize I was fibbing.

"Great. How're your brother's?" he added.

Slightly taken back by the questioned, I managed to shrug, trying hard to seem casual.

"Dunno. You'd have to ask them that question," I replied, grinning. "You've gotten taller, Two-Bit. Where have you been for these past few months?"

Two-Bit slumped one shoulder, which I registered as a shrug.

"I've been around. I went to visit some of my distant folk's over the summer, which explains my not being here and all," he said.

I beamed at him, amused, mostly because of the drastic change in his hair color, and the visible darkness in his skin.

"That sun did some work on your looks. Where do your folks live?" I asked politely.

"Aw, I dunno. All I knew is that I was at the beach each day," Two-Bit said, smiling delightfully at me. He opened his mouth to say something, and I patiently waited for him to continue, but Soda suddenly appeared behind Two-Bit, clamping one hand hard on his shoulder.

"Two-Bit!" he shouted, shoving his friend out of his seat and laughing.

Two-Bit hit the ground, surprised at first, then chuckled when he glanced up and saw Soda staring him in the face.

They engaged in conversation as Two-Bit stood back up, and I grimaced slightly, annoyed with Soda for shoving me out of the circle of communication. But I let it go, knowing Soda, just as I, hadn't seen Two-Bit in several months.

I listened to them talk for a couple of pointless minutes. They mostly spoke about what I'd already asked Two-Bit. "Where ya been?" "What happened to your hair?" Knowing the answers to all these questions, I wandered off in search of something new to do.

As I said before, there wasn't much to do in that damn lot. It was slowly emptying out, although not fully, because only a couple of movies had ended. It was mostly Soc's that came trotting out of the theatre. Actually, Nancy was, which shocked me incredibly, with one of them. He was tall and arguably handsome, with dark locks and bright green eyes.

I smiled at first at the pair, their arms linked childishly and giggles spilling off of their tongues. But the fun made a sharp left as they strutted further across the lot. Nancy seemed to be getting uncomfortable, despite the fact that she was stoned.

"Come on, Ken, lay off," my best friend slurred. "I gotta get home."

"Loosen up, baby," the boy, Ken, insisted. He had Nancy against the wall of the theatre and was kissing her all over, against her will, while his disgusting Soc friends laughed and hooted him on.

"Ken, get the hell off!" Nancy screamed, frantic. "Get your paws off of me. I'm going home!"

This continued for another minute or so. I ignored it at first, unsure of whether or not to step in, but when that pig slithered his hand underneath my friend's shirt, I just couldn't take it anymore. Furious, I charged over to the group.

"Hey, you! Get your damn hands off my friend, she said she wants to go home!" I snarled.

-

I hope you enjoyed. :] Please review.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five! :]

Please review.

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Outsiders_. All rights belong to S.E. Hinton, the master behind the story.

Recap:

"_Hey, you! Get your damn hands off my friend; she said she wants to go home!" I snarled._

-

There was an extremely pregnant pause that refused to be filled with any content, until the Soc turned around, although his hand was still up Nancy's shirt.

"What'd you say, grease?" he snapped.

"I said get off of my friend," I snarled, not budging my tone. If he honestly thought I was going to be afraid of him, he had another thing coming.

"Oh yeah?" Ken snarled, removing his hand from Nancy's clothing and stalking towards me, while his buddies circled my angles. "Who's gonna make me?"

I tightened my hands into sturdy fists at my sides, ready to strike if necessary.

"I am," I hissed.

Before I had a chance to raise my fists, I was pinned to the cemented ground. Out of the five Soc's, only two of them were needed to successfully hold me down.

"You'd better get off!" I threatened, flailing my legs and arms defensively.

Ken laughed and cast glances at his buddies while reaching into his pocket. What his hand ended up retrieving a switchblade, sharp and dangerous-looking.

"Lookie here, boys." He chuckled sinisterly. "This little Greasers girl thinks she can fight us." He hesitated. "Why don't we all teach her a lesson?"

I spat in the face of one of the Soc's, staring menacingly into my eyes. He raised his fist to punch me across the face in response, but someone threw him off of me.

"Get off of her, you asshole's!"

That was Two-Bit's voice. I recomposed myself after a moment and stood up, ready to rejoin the battle, but Soda pulled me aside.

"You've got yourself enough bruises, Becks," he said darkly, patting me protectively on the shoulder and joining the fight himself.

I grumbled bitterly to myself, but obeyed. Soda usually knew what was best for me, so if he said I shouldn't fight, then I wouldn't.

My little scrap with the Soc's seemed to have begun a slight riot, because now dozens of Greaser's, some who I hardly knew, including Dallas Winston, were now participating.

I still didn't join in. Instead, I just glared at the fight. I only decided to go against Soda's will when I noticed Dally. Normally, at least in the fight's I had seen, Dally didn't have any trouble defending himself, but three Soc's were working on him now, and he was getting pretty beaten up.

I lunged at the group of Soc's, grabbing one by the wrist and kicking the other where the sun didn't shine. They both howled in pain and backed off for a second, which gave Dally enough time to use to his advantage. He had the three running off to another Greaser in a matter of minutes. Rubbing his knuckles painfully, he turned to me, glaring.

"I didn't need any help," he snapped.

I smirked, not wounded in the slightest. I'd heard about Dallas Winston, and he was one tough cookie to crack, apologies being no exception.

"You're welcome," I said simply. He kept his glare steady for a few moments before turning away, working on a couple more Soc's.

Five or so minutes later, the brief squabble had ended, and the Soc's were out of there, bruised and bloodied. Soda had managed to obtain himself a scratch across the cheek, but there was no serious damage done to him. Dally had a black eye, but I didn't care for him as much as Soda. Two-Bit hadn't received any wounds at all.

"Damn, Becca," Two-Bit hooted, enjoying his victory. "You sure know how to start a riot!"

I laughed and slapped him playfully on the shoulder.

"I was just standing up for Nancy," I assured.

Two-Bit grinned at me for another second before taking off to chat with a separate group of Greasers. Soda came over to me a moment later, caressing the scratch on his cheek gently.

"Let's get on home," he suggested. "Time sure does fly on Sunday's," he added airily, gazing up at the sky, which was darkening quickly.

"Yeah," I agreed, following his eyes to the clouds. "Let's get home. Darry'll be mad if we're late again."

-

Please review. :]

PS: Thanks to HannahSmith2 for my first review! [:


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter six! [:

Please enjoy and review.

Recap:

"_Yeah," I agreed, following his eyes to the clouds. "Let's get home. Darry'll be mad if we're late again."_

-

Soda and I walked home. We procrastinated intentionally, not wanting to arrive home. We figured Darry would be passed out on the couch. It was a habit of his. Maintain his consciousness every day of the week, then drink himself half to death Sunday night and wake up with a hangover the next morning. It was like his religion.

We didn't have much of a conversation on the way home. I mostly asked Soda what the movie was about. I hadn't really been paying much mind, what with Nancy hollering the whole time. He told me he wasn't watching much, either. He was just sort of there.

When we arrived at our house, Soda peered into the musty window to check on Darry. As suspected, he was lying on the couch, completely out of it. He smiled at me, which I understood as "safety", so I entered. Darry didn't stir on the couch, so I continued up to my room.

Soda came in a moment later. He met me in my room and said goodnight before retreating to his and Pony's. I lied down on the bed, but I realized a second later that I had uncompleted homework. Annoyed (I wasn't a fan of homework), I sat up, snagged a pencil off my desk, and got to work.

The homework was for English. I hated English. I wasn't any good at it. Math, mostly algebra and geometry, were my strongest points in school. Defining vocabulary just wasn't a great topic for me….

"Avert," I murmured, pressing the tip of my pencil into the paper. I thought about it for a second. "Avert…avert…" I mumbled. I remembered the definition after a minute of thought, and I wrote it down. "To turn away or aside…." My English teacher usually expected more sophisticated answers, but that was the best I could think of. Besides, I mostly only tried in English because of Darry…. He'd kill me if I didn't come home with a passing grade.

I drifted off eventually, about ten or so words into the homework. The next thing I knew, I heard Soda's cheery voice bursting through the door, and opened my eyes to witness the sunlight filtering through my filthy bedroom window.

"Dammit…" I mumbled, yawning and staring down at my homework. It was only half completed, but that would have to do for now. Half credit was better than no credit at all….

Hurriedly, I stuffed my paper in my backpack and ran downstairs. I didn't change my clothing—didn't have time to, frankly—but I wasn't really thinking about that. If I was late to school again I'd get detention, which Darry would _not _like.

"Morning, Soda," I said groggily, only nipping at the eggs my brother placed in front of me.

"Something wrong?" Soda asked, noticing my lack of interest in his cooking.

I smiled bitterly and shook my head.

"Just…school," I grumbled.

Soda smiled sympathetically and patted me on the shoulder.

"School's not that bad," he assured me.

I bit my lip. I could've remarked with the "Is that why you dropped out, then?" comment, but he'd been kind of sensitive to that lately, so I held my tongue.

"Right," I muttered, glancing around interestedly. "Where's Pony?"

Soda made a face and shrugged his shoulders.

"Must've left. I haven't seen him."

The rest of the morning was silent. I told Soda goodbye before heading off, then walked to school. It didn't take a while to get there. Only a few minutes or so. That was a good thing. If it was any farther, I would've been late, and Darry would've skinned me.

My English teacher, Mr. Baker, gave me a funny look when I entered the classroom. I wasn't usually on time, so he was probably about to die of shock.

"Good morning, Curtis," he welcomed. I hated the way he used my last name. I always felt like he was calling me by a guy's name—Curtis being a male name and all—but I never commented on my irritation.

"Morning, sir," I murmured, seating myself at my desk and taking my notes out of my backpack. Mr. Baker was cool, in that sense. He didn't get angry if we lugged our backpacks into his classroom.

English actually passed by pretty quickly. I wasn't a big reader, but when I came across an interesting book, I could get into it. We were currently reading _Flowers for Algernon, _which was a decent book. It didn't bore me half to death or anything, so that was a sturdy step in the right direction.

I got half credit for my homework assignment, as suspected. Mr. Baker glared at me when I didn't have my homework fully completed, but I took no notice. It was just one assignment, after all. I usually did my homework, just not correctly. That's why I had a lot of trouble in English.

English ended after the forty minute block of time, and Math was next. I was a little excited. I always loved Math. I liked numbers and calculators and using my brain. It was the only thing I was really talented in.

My Math teacher was young, pretty blonde named Ms. Smith. She had the most boring last name imaginable, but she wasn't a dull teacher. She tried to make our classes fun, usually involving a lot of movies and creative ways to solve problems.

Today, actually, we were watching a movie on basic calculus. I pretty much knew everything there was to know about that, because I'd taken the time to study it religiously over the summer, so the class sped by quickly. Once it was over, I collected my book bag and left the school.

I skipped school a lot. Darry never seemed to notice, because I still managed to keep my grades reasonably high (if a C+ is counted as "high".) I didn't like to cut the same classes every day though, because then I would fall behind on my work. Usually, on a normal week, I would skip school three times. On the first day I'd skip the classes in the middle, the second was the ending classes, and the third was the beginning. I never fell behind on my schoolwork. I was good at that. It was just the matter of doing it right.

I usually met Johnny when I skipped school. He cut a lot too, but only because he liked to do other things to preoccupy his mind from his awful home life, besides stuffing his brain with meaningless facts.

Unfortunately, Johnny had the flu today, so he'd skipped entirely to get some rest. So I was on my own. I didn't know what I was going to do with the rest of my day, but I was sure I'd think of something to indulge my time….


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter seven! :]

Please enjoy and review.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not have ownership over _The Outsiders. _:[

Recap:

_Unfortunately, Johnny had the flu today, so he'd skipped entirely to get some rest. So I was on my own. I didn't know what I was going to do with the rest of my day, but I was sure I'd think of something to indulge my time…._

-

"Dammit, Two-Bit!" I snapped, suppressing bitter laughter and slapping him across the back. I'd met Two-Bit at the theatre. That's where I always went when I skipped, and he was aware of it. Normally, Two-Bit loved school, but he'd heard that Johnny was sick and figured I'd want something to do.

"Sorry, Becks," he apologized, although he was laughing. He'd treated me to soda and popcorn, but had successfully spilled the coke all over my lap.

"This isn't my clothing, you know," I grumbled, retreating to the lobby and wiping the soda off my pants with a handful of napkins.

"I know," Two-Bit replied, following me. "You never have your own clothing. Who's is it?"

I sighed, less annoyed now that my outfit was dry.

"The shirt is Soda's and the pants are Pony's," I explained.

Two-Bit smiled and raised one eyebrow, amused.

"Aw, hell, Soda won't mind. And I don't think Pony will, either," he told me.

I shrugged my shoulders, knowing he was right. Soda wouldn't be angry, and Pony was a lost sac of emotions, so he probably wouldn't care—or at least he wouldn't express it.

"You're right, they won't be angry," I murmured, nodding at him. "But…ugh, Two-Bit, that damn stuff made me sticky!" I shook my head furiously, and my friend laughed.

"Need a bathroom break?" he offered.

My eyes narrowed at him, although a smile was threatening to crawl across my face.

"Nah," I denied. "I'll take a shower when I get home." Suddenly panicked, my eyes wandered over to the clock on the wall. I hadn't checked it in a while, so it could be late. When I realized I still had two hours or so before I had to be home, I relaxed. "Let's get outta here. This place is swarming with Soc's today."

Two-Bit and I left the theatre after that. I still felt slightly sticky, but it wasn't as bad as feeling the cold liquid on my skin. I hated anything cold.

"What do you want to do now?" Two-Bit asked, taking a swig out of his beer bottle and grinning.

"I dunno. I got about two hours." I glanced around the street as we treaded it. "I'm surprised Soda hasn't shown up by now. Usually he meets me here around three-ish."

Two-Bit laughed and inhaled another gulp of alcohol. "Far past three now. It's almost five."

"He's probably just caught up at work or something," I suggested. Two-Bit nodded in agreement before peering interestedly over my shoulder.

"Hey, Dally!" he called. I stared where Two-Bit's eyes were, and I found Dallas Winston, walking down the sidewalk with that usual bitter default expression he normally owned.

"Hey, Two-Bit," Dally replied, making his way over to us.

I stared at Dally for a moment, soaking in his appearance, just as I had Two-Bit. Although this time, I was sort of glaring. Me and Dally still seemed to be on hostile terms from the night before.

But despite Dally's hard personality, he wasn't bad looking. He had reasonably long hair, which was unbelievably blond, almost white. I kind of liked it. It was a good look for him—it made him attractive. He also had a slight build—just no where near as muscular as Darry's.

"Excuse me," Dally snapped, obviously catching my glare. "Is there a problem?"

I blinked and stared at Dally as a whole. His face was hard and tuff-looking, and that infuriated me, for some reason.

"No," I hissed. "No problem here. Just wonderin' why your shirts unbuttoned and your hair's all messed up."

Dally laughed bitterly and tangled one hand through his bright locks.

"Because I just got laid, sweetheart, which is something I doubt _you've _ever had done to you," he fired back.

I felt the blood crawl to my face before replying to Dally's crude remark.

"I feel bad for that girl," I commented. "That was probably the worst time of her life." I thought I'd won with that comment. What else could I do besides insult his ability to have sex? But I soon realized I hadn't even come close to defeating him.

"Why don't you come by sometime?" Dally offered, surveying my face and body. "I'll show you how _bad_ I am."

Both embarrassed and furious, I turned away from Dally, my hands rested sternly on my hips.

"Two-Bit, let's get going," I grumbled.

I heard Dally bark a laugh behind me as I started off, Two-Bit following silently beside me. But we soon departed ways when I claimed I was headed home. Two-Bit wished me a goodnight and left to get boozed up, more so than usual, at least, and I walked to my house.

I didn't like the scene when I arrived. Before I went inside, I saw Darry storming out, a shattered beer bottle clutched angrily in his hand.

He didn't notice me, luckily, because it was too dark for him to witness my shadow. But the way _he _appeared terrified me. And it didn't help that Soda wasn't anywhere to be seen, at least from the windows.

As soon as Darry had disappeared around the corner and down the street, I rushed inside, only to witness Soda on the ground, his cheek, forehead, and neck all violently gushing blood.

-

Please review. :]


	8. Chapter 8

Hehe. Chapter eight. :]

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Outsiders. _All rights belong to S.E. Hinton.

Please review;

Recap:

_As soon as Darry had disappeared around the corner and down the street, I rushed inside, only to witness Soda on the ground, his cheek, forehead, and neck all violently gushing blood._

-

"S-Sodapop!?" I exclaimed, feeling a swell of panic rise inside my chest. Darry had hurt him? Darry had hurt Soda!? Why? He never hurt Soda. Never ever. Only me, and occasionally Pony. It was like Soda had ownership over this force of protection that Ponyboy and I hadn't been blessed with. So what had caused Darry to lay a finger—or a shattered beer bottle—on him?

I stared down at the limp body of my brother. He looked pale, and he was losing blood quickly. Plus, he wasn't responding to my shouts of horror, so I ran to the kitchen, retrieved a roll of damp paper towels, and pressed the cloth to the broken skin.

"S-Soda…Sodapop…" I mumbled. My hands were covered in his hot blood by now, and my roll of paper towels were quickly diminishing, and only in minutes. I wanted to call an ambulance. But the hospital was often linked with the police, and what if they found out what had happened? They couldn't. Our family couldn't get split up, no matter how viscous Darry was. I don't know what I'd do without Sodapop….

"Soda, speak," I begged, shaking his body gently, while still using one hand to press the paper to his wounds. "Come on, Pepsi-Cola, say something. Anything."

There was a pause. I could've sworn I felt Soda stir for a moment, so I clung to that possibility, although it could've been imagined. For what felt like long minutes, I sat there, holding on to Soda and shaking him.

Finally, he came through. His eyes flickered open, horrified-looking, but bright and alert, and a rush of relief invaded my body.

"Aw God, Soda, you had me scared half to death," I gasped, keeping pressure on his wounds. He started to sit up, but I nudged him back down. "What happened?" I asked.

"D-Darry…" Soda murmured. His voice was hesitant and whispery, so I knew he was definitely shaken up. "Darry hit me with a glass bottle because I told him to lay off the beer."

I clenched my teeth together in fury and stood up off my knees. Soda winced as he followed my lead. His cuts were looking bad, but the bleeding had slowed down noticeably.

"I can't stand him," I hissed. "I can't stand Darry. I hate him. I hope he gets fucking jumped."

Soda gasped at my language. I didn't curse much—unless mild words like 'hell' and 'damn' counted.

"Becca," he said slowly, "you don't mean that. Darry just—"

"There's no excuse for how Darry acts!" I exploded. "No damn excuse. He needs to—I just—he can't—it's—" I didn't know what to say. I was completely lost for words. Darry had _attacked _Soda. Sweet, caring, life-loving Sodapop. What the hell was his excuse? He was drunk? He was still "broken up", as Soda nicely put it, about mom and dad? Neither of those excuses were good enough.

I opened my mouth to rant some more, but the front door abruptly unfurled, [that had been one of my annoying vocabulary words in English class] and Steve, Soda's obnoxious best friend, came strutting in.

"Y'ello, Sodapop," he chimed. He started to say something else, but then he noticed the blood, splattered all over the carpet, and Soda, his neck, forehead, and cheek partially mutilated [another vocabulary word.] "Damn, Soda, what happened? Get caught up in a fight or somethin'?"

No one knew about Darry's behavior—not even the members of our gang—because he was always sober around them. I glanced at Soda suggestively, and he shrugged and agreed with Steve's suggestion.

"Yeah," he croaked. "A couple of Soc's jumped me. Big guy's, too. But I'm okay."

Steve continued to speak, but I didn't hear any of his words. Not waiting for Soda's approval, I sprinted out of the house, leaving my brother and his friend behind. And Pony, if he was up in his room, which was entirely likely.

I found myself crying as I ventured further and further down the street. It was dark, and I couldn't see my own hand in front of my face, but I didn't care. Maybe if something happened to me if would direct my mind off my pain. Darry had attacked Soda. I couldn't handle that thought. Darry…Soda…attacked…. Those words didn't fit together in my head.

I was walking for a long while, and Soda didn't come after me, so he obviously knew I was furious and hurt. Which I was. I needed to be on my own for a while—just to cool off a bit. All alone. And thankfully, I was by my lonesome—

Until I smacked head-on into someone. I hadn't been looking where I was going, so the hit came as a surprise to me.

"Hey, why don't you watch where—" the person started to say, but cut themselves off. It took me a second to recognize the voice. "Hey," he continued, "what's a girl like yourself doing out here, all by your lonesome? Don't you know what happens late at night?"

I groaned as I realized who was standing in front of me.

Dallas Winston. Great. He was all I needed right now.

-

Please review. [:


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Outsiders._

All right, before I begin, I'd just like to clear something up.

Someone [or a couple people, maybe?] caught the fact that this story had been reposted twice or so. Yes, this is true, but this is _not_ because I was receiving tons of hate reviews. It was only because it wasn't showing up on the first page—and when a story is updated often, it's _supposed _to do that, isn't it? At first, I thought it was a glitch, so I reposted it a few times. Then I realized that it was the M rating, so I lowered it. _That _is why the story had been deleted and posted again.

Secondly, someone else [or perhaps it was the same person. I wouldn't know, because it was anonymous] asked me why I asked for reviews if I deleted them. I have only deleted _one _of my reviews, and that is because it was a purely hateful anonymous review. It contained no valid constructive criticism whatsoever, only hate, so I thought it would be appropriate to delete it.f

Sorry for the rant, but I thought I should clear that up. Okay, please read, enjoy, and review. :]

PS: And I'm pretty nervous about how I'm portraying the characters that are supposed to be in character. xP If you feel that I'm writing any of them inappropriately [_besides _Darry & Pony, of course, because they're supposed to be OOC] please comment in a review.

Recap:

"_Hey, why don't you watch where—" the person started to say, but cut themselves off. It took me a second to recognize the voice. "Hey," he continued, "what's a girl like yourself doing out here, all by your lonesome? Don't you know what happens late at night?"_

_I groaned as I realized who was standing in front of me._

_Dallas Winston. Great. He was all I needed right now. _

-

"Shut your trap, Dallas, I'm not in the mood," I growled.

"It's not '_Dallas_'," he said, emphasizing his name. "To you, it's Dall-_y_, sweetheart."

I curled my lower lip into a bitter grin before replying.

"All right, Dally Sweetheart," I said sarcastically, "just get the hell out of my way."

I stepped to the side to maneuver out of Dally's way, but he mimicked my movements.

"Why don't I take you out for a coke?" he offered, grinning and wrapping his arms around himself. I wondered why. It wasn't awful cold out.

"Aw, ain't you sweet," I said, fluttering my eyelashes girlishly. "But I think I'll pass. You're Dally _Winston_, last time I heard, which means you don't care about anyone—unless you want something from them, 'course.'"

"Well, well," Dally snickered, releasing his hold on himself and holding his arms stiffly at his hips. "You just got me all figured out, don't you?"

I considered his words for a moment.

"All right, ya'll got me there. Maybe I don't have you cornered," I admitted. "But so far, Dally, you seem like a real _ass_."

"I just invited you for a damn coke," Dally reminded me.

"Well you know what, Dallas Sweetheart? You can go ahead and stick that coke up your—"

"C'mon, guys, don't fight. Throwing insults back and forth ain't gonna do nothing."

I turned at the sound of the familiar voice, and witnessed Soda, loping towards the two of us. I would've slapped him for following me—but it was _Soda, _so I'd never even dream of it.

"What're you doing here, Sodapop?" I demanded, somewhat heatedly. I didn't like being followed when I was clearly upset.

"Just makin' sure you're okay," he promised me. "You seemed angry when you stormed outta our house."

Dally seemed interested, but he was Dallas Winston, and he didn't care about anything, so he didn't remark.

"I was just inviting your sister here for a coke," he intervened smoothly. "She's one big-mouthed broad." His eyes narrowed sinisterly at me, but I shrugged off his glare.

"I guess she's been hanging out with Nancy a little too much," Soda joked. Both him and Dally laughed, but I didn't see the humor in it.

"Would you two shut your traps? I'm not in the mood," I hissed, clenching my stiff palms into fists at my sides.

Soda sighed and patted me on the back.

"Why don't we go on home? The walk back'll give you some time to cool off. And…" he hesitated, forming an idea in his mind, "and…I'll make you some dinner or something."

"Oh goodie," I said sarcastically, though I felt a little less heated. I loved Soda. He always knew how to cheer me up. "Can't wait for them burnt eggs of yours."

Soda nodded and winked, and I actually managed to grin back at him. I turned my back on Dally and started walking off, but paused to wait for my brother as he told his friend goodbye.

"See you later, Dally," he said cheerily, half-sprinting to catch up to me.

"Remember," Dally called after me, though his voice sounded distant as we grew further and further, "the offer's still open. A coke, on me!" There was a definite smirk in his voice, which infuriated me [have I mentioned I also learned that word in English?], but I ignored my temper.

"Soda," I said slowly, facing him as we walked beside each other, "how's Pony? Has he come out of that room of his yet?" I asked that same question everyday. I missed Ponyboy so much. We were unbelievably close as younger kids, but we just sort of…drifted off as we got older. Pony was always younger than me, but he was more mature in most cases. I didn't understand why he'd stopped talking and dreaming and being himself. Just like Darry had. Mom and dad's death took it's toll on them—I understood that—but why couldn't they stay the same, like Soda and I had?

Now curiously racking my brain for assumptions, I thought of one. Maybe they didn't realize they'd changed. Maybe they thought they were still the same….

Whatever it was, it still kept me on my toes each day, eagerly waiting for when the old Darry and Pony would come back.

"No," Soda said finally, shaking his head glumly. "He's still up there, doing whatever it is he does." He seemed to read the look on my disappointed face, and he nodded. "I know, I miss him, too," he agreed quietly, leading me into our home as we arrived.

-

Please review. :]


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter ten! :]

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own _The Outsiders. _:P

Please enjoy & review;

Recap:

"_No," Soda said finally, shaking his head glumly. "He's still up there, doing whatever it is he does." He seemed to read the look on my disappointed face, and he nodded. "I know, I miss him, too," he agreed quietly, leading me into our home as we arrived. _

_-_

Once we arrived home, Soda got started on my dinner. I kept my eyes on the front door the whole time my eggs were being cooked, until Soda shooed me away.

"Becks…" he said slowly. His usually warm eyes were bright with alertness—almost panic. I hated when he had that look. Soda didn't deserve to be worried. He was too good a person to feel that way. "What're you thinking?"

"Just about Darry," I assured him miserably, staring into his eyes. "Soda, don't look like that."

My brother blinked a couple times, and the look vanished. He knew exactly what I was talking about when I said that. I asked him not to look that way almost every single day.

"Sorry," he muttered, using a spatula to flip his eggs onto my palte—which were, as I had predicted—burnt.

I shrugged my shoulders and stared hollowly at my paper plate. Soda seemed eager—he was always trying to perfect his cooking, mostly for my pleasure—but it was never very good. But just to seem polite, I stabbed the eggs, retrieving myself a forkful or so, and shoved them into my mouth.

"Yum," I muttered emotionlessly. Soda's expression flickered slightly, but a moment later, laughter erupted [another vocabulary word!] from his throat.

"That bad, huh?"

I tried to return his chuckling, but I only managed a quiet giggle. Soda made a disappointed face and shook out his hair.

"You all right?"

"Those cuts are awful," I said, leaving my plate of food behind and coming close to my brother. I surveyed his cuts for a moment—they were raw and looked painful—and I could only imagine how they felt on Soda's body.

"Don't they hurt?" I asked. I found that my lip was quivering slightly. I didn't like seeing Soda hurt. And knowing _who _had hurt him made everything even worse.

Soda shrugged his shoulders and winced as I ran my thumb along the edge of one of his wounds. His wince made me bite my lip and pull my hand away. But thankfully, he was still grinning. Though…he always grinned. So that didn't mean a thing.

I stood still for a moment, and so did Soda, before he reached over and pressed his palm to my forehead.

"You feeling okay, Becca? You're not looking so good. You feel a little hot, too," he said anxiously.

I gasped a little and tested my own skin. It didn't feel too warm to me, but I didn't remark.

"I think I'm gonna go to bed," I muttered, turning my back on Soda and walking, almost hesitantly, towards the stairs. But before my foot touched the first step, I paused. "I think I'm gonna skip school tomorrow, too."

I wasn't facing Sodapop, so I couldn't see his expression, but his voice had a nervous smile lingering in it.

"Okay. Um, I'll…write a note." Soda could forge Darry's signature. That was a good thing, because Darry never let me or Pony miss school, which made all my existing days to be absent pretty useless.

I trudged to my room once I felt reassured. Though I hardly realized when I made it to my bedroom. I was dazed. I was also thinking Soda was right. I felt freezing cold as I undressed myself and changed into a night shirt and pajama pants. I needed a shower, but I decided I'd take one the next morning. A nice long, steamy one, too.

By the time I my mouth tasted minty fresh from brushing my teeth, I was more exhausted than ever. And I was feeling more and more sick by the second. Soda was _definitely _right. Maybe I caught the flu, like Johnny had.

As soon as I laid down, wrapping myself tightly in the fuzzy sheets, my eyelids slithered closed and I drifted off.

---

"SODAPOP, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!"

I thought I was dreaming. I thought that I had faded into a nightmare. But Darry's voice, screaming Soda's name angrily was all too real.

It took me a long while, but I finally managed to reopen my eyes. I was weak and my head was pounding, aching badly. Darry's voice was growing angrier by the moment, and I could briefly hear Soda's as I stumbled downstairs.

"Listen, Darry, I didn't mean it—"

"BLOOD! ALL OVER THE CARPET! I TRY TO KEEP OUR HOUSE NICE AND _HOW _DO YOU REPAY ME!?"

There was a fierce cracking sound, which I soon realized was Soda's body colliding with the coffee table.

By the time I made it fully downstairs, panting from my exhaustion and discomfort, Soda was bruised—and his cuts had been reopened.

I felt a jolt pass through my heart as I witnessed Darry, standing over a stiff Soda with his hand clenched into a fist.

"Darry, DON'T!" I screamed. The shriek made my throat burn and the windows rattle, but I ignored my pain and the slight noise.

Darry hesitated. Soda was still on the carpeted floor, petrified. I'd never seen him so afraid in his entire life. I didn't like it.

"Darry, stop," I repeated. I spoke quieter this time, because my voice had become hoarse.

"What the _hell _are you doing up!?" Darry shouted, releasing his fist and stalking towards me. "You've got school tomorrow, you little _slacker_! Do ya'll wanna turn out like your idiot brother here!? Get your ass upstairs!"

"Y-you'd better keep your hands off Sodapop," I stammered. I hated being afraid of him. But he was just too intimidating not to fear. Especially with those damn muscles of his.

"Shut up!" he shouted, flicking his eyes in between Soda and I. "_I'm _in charge here, not you. Now get the hell upstairs." He was definitely sober. He wasn't slurring his words at all. He must've drank himself dry that afternoon, when he'd—it was hard for me to think this word—_attacked _Soda with the shattered beer bottle.

"Leave Soda alone!" I repeated. I wasn't spluttering this time, because Sodapop was standing up now, which eased my fear a little bit.

"Becca, why don't you go on upstairs?" Soda suggested shakily. "You look awful sick."

I _felt_ awful sick, too. But I didn't comment. I was trying to hold my glare on Darry steady, but I could sense it flickering with every step he took towards me.

"Go upstairs," he demanded furiously. "Go. Upstairs. _NOW._"

I took a terrified backwards, but I didn't retreat upstairs. Not with Soda's face looking so pale across the room.

-

Please review. :]


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Outsiders._

All right, before I begin, I'd like to thank one of my reviewers. She didn't have a username, it was an anonymous review, as many are, and she just represented herself as "Angie."

Anyway, she gave an extremely thorough review. And unlike many other's, it was not pure hate or pure admiration. It both criticized me _and _encouraged me. And I honestly took her suggestions into consideration.

One of the simpler things she said is that the characters cussed too much. I'm not going to lie, _I _cuss often in real life, so that's probably why it's reflected in my writing. But I can stop that in an instant.

But a more difficult thing she mentioned was Becca. She said she wasn't a fan of her, because she was a "Mary-Sue." I knew what that meant, even before she explained it, and I was just sort of like, "Wow." I didn't actually realize. So I went back and re-read every chapter, and I'm starting to see it. She _is _Mary-Sue-ish. Now, in my mind, Becca _does _have flaws. Many of them. But unfortunately, so far, I've failed to represent them. Starting now, I will most definitely try to show the less admirable side of her.

And then she said something about Two-Bit being extremely OOC. I'm not exactly sure how I'm supposed to correct that. I suppose I'll just go back and re-read the book.

Oh, and she suggested that I switch to a third person POV. I considered that, but then decided not to. Though it could make the story better—it could _also _make it worse, especially since third person isn't usually my strong point.

Sorry for the rant—again. But when something's on my mind, I like to express it. And I want people to know I don't turn a blind eye to harsh reviews. Though it's difficult sometimes, I _do _embrace them. And I don't simply give up on a story if I receive them.

R&R.

-

I was still backing up as Darry stalked towards me. This would've been a good time for the real Darry to rush back…. Come springing back into the sympathetic, serious brother I used to know….

BAM!

There was a violent crash that sent a second jolt buzzing through my heart, and I turned my head to see Ponyboy, laying at the foot of the stairs. He looked like he'd fallen. But I was more obsessed with the fact that'd come downstairs—again.

I took another glance at Darry's face—surveying his expression—and I automatically realized Soda and I were off the hook. Every time Darry saw Pony, it seemed to slap the anger right outta him. Just as he had a night or so ago, he left the room without a second word. I didn't get it. Pony's appearance always seemed to stop him—it was like some anti-Darry essence.

"Pony?" I croaked. My head was screaming. It needed rest, but I wanted to hear Pony's voice before I went back to bed.

My younger brother stood up off the ground and shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing. There was a throbbing lump on his forehead, which was probably the part of his body that had collided with the floor.

Then he left. I stared across the room, relieved that the color had returned to Sodapop's face. But I was still mostly focused on Pony. I had enough common sense to know that a coincidence hadn't resulted in him coming downstairs. He'd done it on purpose. But I couldn't understand _why_.

"I don't get him," I muttered, my eyes on the blood splattered carpet. I couldn't read my brothers. I couldn't read anyone, no matter how much of an open book they were. I could only fully understand someone if they used their words and told me. Figurin' out expressions and emotions wasn't my thing. And I certainly wasn't anywhere near a mind reader.

Soda seemed to understand Pony more than I did, but he didn't remark on it.

"You look awful," he said finally. His tone had returned to its childish state.

I didn't laugh. I kind of glared, actually. I wasn't one to take jokes lightly. Especially not when I was upset.

"Gee, thanks, Sodapop," I snapped.

He grinned at me, and I half-smiled back. I wasn't appreciating his comment, but Soda had that "if-I-smile-at-you-you'll-smile-at-me" effect.

"I'm going to bed," I grumbled, turning and trudging outta the room.

"You get a good night's sleep," Soda called, quieting his voice a little as he continued. "I've got that note all ready for you."

-

The next morning I felt a little better than I had a night before, but still awful. I was positive I had a fever, because my whole body was shaking as soon as I took the covers off myself.

It was nearing eleven AM, which was late for me. I was an early bird—my "sleeping in", even on the weekends, didn't usually pass nine AM, so eleven was a slight difference than a regular morning.

I slowly, very slowly, made my way out of bed, downstairs, and into the kitchen. The house had a quiet, lonely feeling to it. I hated this feeling. I was petrified of ever being left alone. That's why I wouldn't turn Darry in for being so hurtful. That's why I kept it a secret. I couldn't stand to leave Soda. Though I had other friends, I considered Soda my shoulder to lean on. I was afraid to lose him—and be left on my own. I only let myself be alone on certain occasions—one of them being when I'm extremely angry. Other than that, I prefer, no, _need_, some sort of company.

I felt little spasms of fear growing in my stomach as I paced around the kitchen. Usually Soda left a note or—or—

My eyes found a piece of paper, lying unimportantly on the kitchen counter. And it was definitely my brother's handwriting. I heaved a sigh of relief before skimming it over;

'Work. Be back this afternoon. Soda.'

I had to squint to read Soda's words. His script had always been squiggly and practically illegible.

Relieved now, I managed to cook myself some eggs and bacon and go into the living room. The blood on the carpet had vanished—actually, the carpet had been removed completely—so the bare floor felt cold against my naked feet.

As time crawled by, like molasses, I was beginning to wish I'd gone to school. Even though I knew I would have been sent home early for having a fever, I was downright bored. I was also feeling impatient as I glared at the clock. Soda would still be at work for another three hours, which left me nothing to do but sit on the couch, clinging to my brother's note, which was now hiding in the back pocket of my night pants.

Just as the small hand of the clock flickered over to the one, the front door flew open, and Nancy stood there, grinning with some sort of amusement, which is why her words confused me.

"Hey, Becca." She stared at me for a second. "I've got some bad news."

I nodded my head and welcomed the news, although Nancy's smirk didn't flicker as she told me.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Outsiders._

Again, thank you to the reviews I have gotten. I do appreciate them. They help me become a better writer. :]

-

Nancy raised both her eyebrows, the smirk still on her face. I wanted to sock her across the jaw. If it was _bad _news, why on earth was she smiling?

"It's Soda."

Suddenly, it felt like wind had been knocked right outta me. And Nancy was still smiling. Grinning…smirking…. It was angering me so much that I stood up, wobbling as I gained my balance, and slapped her hard across the face.

She seemed taken back. She stumbled, but managed to steady herself after a moment. Now she wasn't grinning. She had some sort of incredulous look on her face.

"What the _hell _was that?"

"What's wrong with Sodapop?!" I demanded. I had her grabbed by the collar now, and I was shaking her fiercely. "What happened to him?"

"So you slap me across the face and then you expect me to—"

"WHAT HAPPENED TO SODA!?" I screamed.

"All right, all _right_," Nancy snapped, pulling her way out of my grip. "I'll tell ya."

She hesitated. Some sort of_ 'best friend' _I had. She was just savoring the tension.

"It was some of the Soc," she finally admitted. "It happened down at his work. They lit 'em on fire. Threw gasoline on him and used a cigarette."

I was hyperventilating now, and even more so as the tears crept into my eyes. Cigarettes. Nasty cancer sticks. I never smoked 'em—not unless I had a decent reason to.

"Is he okay?" I was half-sobbing now, gasping as I begged for the answer.

Nancy was gnawing on her lip. She seemed guilty now. Maybe she shouldn't have acted like such a jerk when she'd come in.

"I dunno," she murmured, her cold blue eyes glaring at the floor. "They took him to the hospital. I was there when it happened. Right across the street, with Dal—"

I assumed she was going to say 'Dally', but I never knew for sure, because I was out the door in a second.

--

I was running to the hospital now. Barefoot. In my pajamas. My hair frizzing around my head, not brushed. But I didn't care. I had to reach the hospital. I had to reach Sodapop.

When I finally arrived there, after running over broken nails and small rocks and shards of glass on the street for fifteen minutes or so, I pushed the hair out of my face and went to the front desk.

"Where's—Sodapop—Curtis's—room?" I gasped.

The nurse seemed almost frightened by my deranged appearance, but she didn't comment.

"Room two-thirteen. Down the hall." She gestured to the whitened hall on my left, and I nodded and sprinted down it.

I kept running until I reached Soda's room. Two-thirteen. I reached over to open the door, but it was locked, and when I peered inside, I noticed several doctor's, hovering over Soda's body.

I let out a gasp and fell backwards a couple of steps. My heart was thumping hard in my chest. I thought it was going to give out from the pressure, but it didn't. It calmed slightly as I took a seat on a chair outside the wooden door.

_God, Soda, don't do this to me…_I begged. My head was swarming with petrifying thoughts. What if he d-_died _? Where would I be then?

My brain was trying hard to get into more detail, but someone tapping me on the shoulder interrupted it.

I turned shakily, and witnessed my younger brother, Ponyboy, standing beside me.

"Pony?" I whimpered. "Pony, what're you doing out of school?"

My brother shrugged his shoulders. And then I almost died—but of shock. He _spoke_.

"The hospital called my school." His voice was soft and whispery, as if he hadn't made a sound in months.

"My God, Ponyboy." I couldn't stop my affection. I jumped out of my seat and hugged him, wrapping my arms tightly around his small frame.

Pony was the one to pull away, but only because I was squeezing the life outta him. Then he stared at me, a tiny, almost illegible smile, curled along his lips.

"Where's Darry?" I croaked. "He's gotta come, don't he? He wouldn't—"

"I don't _gotta _do anything." I looked up. That wasn't Pony's voice, nor a doctor's. It was Darry's. I stared at him from across the hall. He was looking less violent than usual, with his bulky arms crossed over his chest and sweating running down his face. "So what has Soda gotten himself into?" It was clear he was sober, and not willing to make a scene in public. But I was just so surprised that he'd come. I was convinced he didn't care at all. I hadn't actually _expected _him to show up.

I found myself rubbing my hands along my hair as I peered at Darry. I thought my appearance would make him realize I'd skipped school, but he didn't seem to notice anything unusual.

Once my fear subsided [vocabulary word….], I didn't know what to say. I felt the urge to slug him—but I also felt the urge to embrace him in a hug, like I had Pony. In the end, I did neither.

"A couple of Soc got him," I sniffled, talking as though we never fought. As though he never hit me.

Darry opened his mouth to reply, but a doctor stepped into his sentence, interrupting him.

"Excuse me?" the doctor asked. He looked old, perhaps in his mid-seventies, with bushy gray hair sprouting out of his ears. "Are you three here for Sodapop Curtis?"

We all nodded, even Darry, and the old man braced himself to continue.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter thirteen

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Outsiders._

R&R

-

I intertwined my fingers together as the doctor continued. Again, I was being superstitious. Soda had to be okay….

The doctor heaved a sigh before officially speaking.

"He…_should_ be okay," he assured us. He had a little smile on his face, so I believed him. "We'll have to keep him here for a couple of nights, though. Just for observation."

I unclenched my fingers and nodded at the doctor. He finished his speech by sayin' that we could see Soda if we wanted.

Before we were allowed in though, he told us to keep our voices down. I obeyed him, and Pony didn't say much anyway, so that was an easy command for him to follow. Then we entered Soda's room. His condition made me wince. Burns, lots of 'em—he was covered in gauzes and bandages.

"Hey, Sodapop," I said quietly, seating myself beside his bed. His hair, which had been bleached golden over the summer, was charred at the ends. "How're you feeling?"

His eyes found mine and Pony's. And he was smiling. _Still_. I just couldn't understand him.

"I'm doing okay," he answered. His voice sounded like how Pony's did—soft and whispery.

"Them Soc's did a number on you, huh?" I said, trying hard to return his smile—though mine was bitter.

"Yeah." My older brother held his grin steady. "Dunno why they did. Guess they just didn't like my…being a greaser an' all." For a split second, Soda's smile faltered, but it returned within an instant. "Hey, where's Darry?" He looked around the room, wincing as he flexed his neck slightly.

"Huh? Wasn't he—" I'd been convinced Darry had followed us in the room. But when I peered around it, he was absent. "Pony, where'd Darry go?" I asked.

Ponyboy shrugged his shoulders and jerked his head towards the door frame. I glared out it, into the hallway, and noticed Darry had vanished.

Knowing this made me furious. I didn't know why, though. Maybe it was because I couldn't believe Darry would go back to work when his brother was lying painfully in the hospital. Soda could've been in a lot of pain—and did Darry care? Of course not. Because he seemed to have lost all feeling over the months. All feeling 'sides violence and hatred, that is.

"Becca?" Soda's voice chimed in through my block of thoughts. "You okay? Your face is…red."

My face reddened even more as my brother pointed it out. "No, Soda, I'm all right," I said, through gritted teeth. "You got a comb on you?"

Soda cocked one eyebrow, reached over onto the side counter, and delivered the comb to me. "It's a little charred, from the fire and all—but it'll fix your hair."

I patted the top of my head gently, feeling the frizz beneath my fingers. Fortunately, the comb fixed my current situation. Although I was still in my pajamas, I looked half-decent.

"Thanks, Soda. I've got somewhere to be. I'll see you later." I offered him and Pony both a half-bitter half-sincere smile before strolling off, exiting the hospital before they could comment.

I dunno why I left. I think it was because I was afraid I was gonna explode. I didn't want to do that in front of Soda and Pony—not when it wasn't them I was angry with. Darry. Stupid Darry. I couldn't stand that guy. I didn't even want to call him "my brother" anymore.

The outside world wasn't bright anymore. The light in the sky was slowly dimming, the sun disappearing over the horizon even more with each second—signaling the coming of nighttime. I hated darkness. I hated silence. I was scared of them both. Thankfully, once it got dark, I'd only have to endure the blackness—being around packs of people, I couldn't ever feel lonely.

I sort of just stood on the curb for a while, glaring around at everyone that passed. They kept giving me dirty looks because of my PJ's, but I was trying hard not to pay them any mind. I was too furious and petrified of the nearing nighttime. I always had to have the lights on at home before I went to bed, or I'd never get to sleep. And I had to be sure I wasn't alone in the house—and if I was, for some reason, I needed the radio or the television to comfort me into my dreams. I was frightened to death of both darkness and silence.

A moment before the sun had vanished entirely, my eyes wandered across the road. Dallas Winston was at the edge of the sidewalk, a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

Not knowing what else to do before the sun went down, I beckoned to him and ran over.

Dally smothered his cigarette and tossed it to the ground, destroying its remains with the end of his shoe.

"What're you doing here?" He stared at my clothing for a second. "Just got back from a slumber party or somethin'?"

I ignored his sarcastic comment and shrugged my shoulders.

"Dally Sweetheart, I think I want to take that coke offer—if it's still available, 'course."


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not have ownership over _The Outsiders._

This is mostly a filler chapter.

R&R.

-

Dally produced a new cigarette and took a long drag on it, staring at me. I think he was just taking forever to get on my nerves.

"Dallas…" I muttered, losing my patience with each second that ticked by.

"Rebecca…" He mimicked my tone and stood up, scratching the top of his head absently and crushing his second cigarette.

I stared at the fiery remains of the hardly-used cigarette, glowing like tiny hot coals. "Quit wasting those cancer sticks and give me an answer," I snapped.

Dally ignored me and flicked a third one out of his pocket, grinning.

"Do _you _want a smoke?" he offered. "You seem real on edge."

I glowered at him, my eyes narrowing into venomous slits.

"_No_, I don't want a smoke. I want an answer."

"What?" Dally raised both his eyebrows, which briefly reminded me of Sodapop, minus the "cold-hatred-in-his-eyes" trait. "You don't smoke?" He was having a difficult time lighting his cigarette, and I could tell it was pissing him off.

"Those things—" I flicked my finger at the unlit cig—"take years off your life."

Dally shook his head in disagreement.

"Calm your nerves, too." He smirked.

"I'd rather be nervous than dead." I returned his smirk, though mine was emphasized to seem false—which it was. He wasn't entertaining me—he was annoying the hell outta me, frankly.

Dally ignored my comment, and cheered silently when he finally lit his cigarette. He smoked it for a moment, then stared up at me.

"You said you wanted a coke?"

My eyes traveled upward, peering anxiously at the sky. It had darkened completely—and to such an eerie point that my stomach gave a violent shudder.

"I said that when there was still light in the sky," I spat bitterly, though my tone was trembling a little.

Dally's eyes flickered from his lighter to my gaze, which was still focused on the sky, shaking. I tore it away from the blackness as a tiny, grim smile curled his lips.

"Don't look like that," I snapped. I knew what he was thinking—it was written all over his bitter expression, emphasized in his hate-filled eyes. _You scared of the dark, sweetie? _Or something along those lines.

Dally barked a laugh, which was obnoxious and clearly meant to mock me.

"Just staring at the sky," he assured me, much too innocently to be believable. There was a slight pause, which involved me boring my eyes irritably into his, before he spoke again. "As I was saying…" he paused, blowing a perfect ring of smelly smoke into the chilly air, "you wanted a coke?"

"Yes." My tone was dark and demanding. I was sick of playing around. I wanted to go to the Goddamn Dingo or head home, cowering from the darkness like I normally would.

Dally laughed again—and in that same tone that was meant to mock me. Gosh, I wanted to slap him. But he'd probably tear me up if I ever tried it.

"All right." Dally grinned cockily, revealing his teeth a little, although it was hard to see his face in the blackness. "Follow me. The Dingo's—"

"Around the corner," I intervened, my teeth gritted. "I know, I've been there with Two-Bit and Sodapop plenty. Now can we just get the hell outta here?" My eyes found themselves drifting, glaring back up at the sky. All could think was, _damn, it's real dark out tonight_, but I wouldn't dare say that aloud, of course.

Dally smirked again, though his grin was toothless this time. He was going to lead the way, but before he stepped from his spot on the cement, he grabbed my right hand and pressed a cigarette into my palm.

"Smoke up."

I stared at him for a moment as he placed a lighter in my second hand, my left hand, and glared expectantly at me. My expression was incredulous, and I was ready to scream in his face. I didn't know why he was infuriating me so freaking much. He just was. Just that smirk on his face—and especially the fact that he was expecting me to completely run against my morals and smoke my brains out, though I'd already refused.

I wouldn't do it. I wouldn't smoke—take minutes or hours or years off my life. That was one decent thing I'd learned from Darry, who still wouldn't lay his hands on a weed, despite his alcohol problems.

"Would you hurry up?" Dally snapped, rubbing his hands together and huddling his arms around himself. "It's cold out here, so light the damn thing and let's get going."

I used my eyes to focus on each object, one on the lighter and one on the cigarette. Then I raised my hand, about to toss the disgusting things onto the cement.

But I didn't. Instead, I lit the weed and brought it to my lips, coughing as I inhaled the smoke too quickly.

Gosh, I was taking minutes off my life with this thing. And _why_? All because I wanted to go out for a coke with Dallas Winston.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter fifteen.

-sighs- This chapter took me a while to write, because of the amount of Dally in it. He is an extremely difficult character to capture, and I'm not sure I got him right. But I tried my best. Don't be too brutal if you find him OOC.

R&R.

-

The Dingo was far from empty—as it usually was. Crowds, perhaps even packs of people, greasers mostly, were strung along the countertops and booths of the restaurant. Dallas was beside me, his dark eyes glittering maliciously as usual. I looked away from his brooding face and snagged a table—one that wasn't littered with screaming teenagers.

"Go get the cokes," I instructed. Dally hesitated to light another cancer stick, then strode off in the direction of the fountain drinks. God, what the hell was I doing here, anyway? I should've been back at the hospital, comforting Sodapop and fishing more words out of Ponyboy. But instead I was here, still dwelling on Darry and turning to the comfort of Dally. Really, _the _Dallas Winston.

Speaking of Dally, he returned a moment later. He was on his _sixth _cigarette of the evening. One day our whole gang was going to be stuck in bed with cancer and such, and Darry and I would be the only two members left breathing freely. Unless Darry poisoned himself with alcohol first, of course.

"I gotcha a Pepsi instead." Dally grinned, as though he'd done me a tremendous favor.

I eyed the Pepsi with little interest before putting my mouth around the straw and blowing bubbles into the soda. It was a habit of mine I'd gained when I was really young, and I'd never let it go.

"So why'd you decide to come get a coke with me, after all?" Dallas asked, interrupting the rumble of the bubbling in my cup.

I raised my eyebrows suggestively before stopping to take a breath and snicker. "Is Dally Winston taking _interest _in someone else's life?" I taunted.

Dally cracked a tiny smile. I stared into his eyes as he scrambled for a quick-witted reply. I couldn't help but to think about his irises, so blue that they were unreal—the color of something like frozen crystal pool water. I would've mistaken them for contacts if I didn't know any better.

"So maybe I am," Dally said finally, nipping at the plastic straw before taking a sip of his coke.

My eyes hardened at his response. The casualness in his tone reminded me of Darry, when he'd appeared at the hospital; _"I don't _gotta _do anything…. So what's Soda gotten himself into?" _I didn't realize it at the time, but he hadn't _honestly _sounded like he cared. He just seemed to be putting on a cute little show for the doctor's and patients. Bastard.

Dally was glaring at me expectantly, wanting a reply. I didn't offer him one just yet, but instead gnawed on the end of my straw. The only single thought I had surfacing my mind now was, _God, I need some booze. Where's Two-Bit when you need him? _

Dallas was tapping his foot impatiently under the table, obnoxiously waiting for a reply. My hard expression softened a slight bit before I replied.

"There was an incident," I said, heaving a sorrowful sigh. "Nothing really. I just needed to get out."

Dally wasn't taking much interest in my explanation—or at least it didn't seem like it. After all, I don't read people real well. Maybe he was.

I considered pushing the conversation further, but suddenly I noticed Nancy, quibbling [vocabulary. Gosh, maybe English has done something for me] with a group of greaser boys from a separate gang. I croaked a gagging sound and stood up, not wanting to have a run-in with her. I was still ready to jump my supposed "best friend" for being so light about Soda's critical situation.

"I gotta go," I said, my teeth gritted so roughly that they ached.

Dally seemed almost taken back as he followed my lead and stood up from the booth, cocking both his light eyebrows demandingly. "Where to?"

I looked at him for an instant, surveying his eyes again. They were attracting—hypnotizing, even. At least _I_ witnessed them that way.

"I just gotta get out of here," I said. I didn't wait for him to reply. Instead, I rushed out of the Dingo. I felt Nancy's eyes focused on my back as I exited the restaurant. She had clearly recognized me, but chose not to speak up.

Now I was alone. Trapped in the darkness. I started cursing in my head, addressing myself by every weak name I could come up with. Why was I so afraid of the dark? There was nothing "lurking" within it. No monsters. Soc's, maybe. But…

"Hey, grease!"

Startled, I glanced up and realized I'd wandered straight into an alleyway. It was by instinct, really. I always took this shortcut home, but following its path at night didn't seem like the best plan…. I found myself glaring into the faces of a pack of what I'd feared—Soc's—all eyeing me greedily.

"What do you want?" I snapped. I felt my hand slowly slithering into the back pocket of my jeans, although the switchblade I was looking for was absent. Two-Bit had given me one for my birthday…but I hadn't been able to find it for months now. I was hoping by a stroke of luck that it would turn up….

The Soc's were circling me now, their eyes pacing over the angles of my shadow hungrily. The most muscular one I recognized as one of the Soc's that had rooted Ken on when he'd harassed Nancy.

"What do you _want_?" I repeated, demanding an answer, though I realized that my tone was trembling noticeably.

The four Soc's exchanged amused glances—and the assumed leader of the group stepped forward. He was more of a skinny guy, with dark locks and dangerously reckless brown eyes—almost like an anti-Dally, so the muscular one backed him up.

"What are you doin' out here—all alone?" he asked. His words were slurring off his tongue in a seductive purr, and I realized that he was boozed up.

"I'm going home," I said, trying hard to keep my voice from shaking.

"Really?" The stick-thin boy's eyes darted momentarily to one of his lackey's, glimmering greedily, before I felt a firm hand clamped in a choke-hold around both my neck and mouth.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin', boys?" the skinny Soc spluttered. His friend's nodded in agreement, and my heart began pounding unevenly in my chest. My blood was coursing through my veins, as slowly and painfully as cement. I had a good idea of what the Soc's were _thinking_—and I was horrified.

Now it was silent as the lead Soc wordlessly debated on how to begin his violation. My eyes were squinted, stifling the tears threatening to emerge in them. _God, get me out of this…_I begged.

Suddenly, there was a shout of rage that bulleted through and shattered the quiet. The voice sounded like Dallas's, but it couldn't be his…could it?

My body slammed against the damp ground of the alleyway as the muscular Soc released me, and then there were murmurs of confusion, before more shouts erupted—but this time they were clearly coming from the Soc's, and they were cries of pain and surprise.

Before I had a chance to realize what was going on, the Soc's retreated down the alley and around the corner, vanishing in the distance. My rescuer gave me a second to listen to the quick flutter of my heartbeat and my heavy panting before he lifted me violently off the street by my wrist.

"What the _fuck_were you thinking, walking down an empty alleyway—and _unarmed_?" the boy snarled.

"Huh?" I was still shaken, so it took me a moment to familiarize [vocabulary, _again_] myself with the tone. "_Dallas_?" I stammered, my mouth gaping.

"Dall-_y_, it's fucking Dally, I told you! Now what the fuck did you think you were doin'?!" he demanded. He was awful angry—and his cursing emphasized that.

I rubbed the back of my head soothingly. It had collided with the cement when the brawny Soc had let go of me. "I was going home," I muttered. Not knowing what else to say, a sudden idea arose in my mind. "Wait, were you _following _me?"

"Good thing I was, too," Dally shouted, assuring me of my suspicion. "Those Soc's—"

"O_kay_," I growled, wiping the dirt of the alleyway off my outfit and facing away from the angry blonde. "I've got it. I'm a stupid broad, I know. Now I'm going home."

"Fine," Dallas said. "I really hope you don't die on your way there," he added furiously.

I was too ashamed to come up with a remark, so instead I silently trudged out of the alleyway, thankful that Dally couldn't see the red blush around my ears.

But at the same time I felt grateful. I _would _have been a goner if he hadn't followed me. Though I was sort of surprised he'd decided to rescue me. Dallas Winston didn't care about anything…but now it seemed like Dallas also wouldn't (or _couldn't_, maybe? Though that was doubtful) stand by and watch a fellow gang member be assaulted (or possibly worse).

Now I felt confused. I'd never known Dallas very well, but all I _had _known about him was that he was hard and bitter—obnoxiously unfriendly—the "trust-no-one" kind of guy. But still…he'd saved me, and I couldn't stop myself from quietly whispering _Thanks, Dall-__**y**_, as I reached my home and entered, slamming the front door behind me.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter sixteen.

Haha. Someone said in a review that Becca never changed out of her PJ's, though when she was jumped she had jeans on. :P That was my mistake. xP Just thought I'd mention that. (:

R&R. And no flames, please. :]

-

I groaned and rolled over as the screeching of my ancient alarm clock invaded my dreams. Was it really morning already? It felt like I'd just drifted off…. Though I was still exhausted, I reached my arm stiffly over to the annoyance and flicked its switch, silencing it. I considered closing my eyes again to catch a few more minutes of sleep, but it was unlikely that I'd wake up until late, so I forced myself out of bed.

"Argh…Soda, why is there an alarm—" I cut my words off mid-sentence. Soda wasn't around—he was still at the hospital. And _I _was the one that had set the alarm clock so that I'd wake in the morning.

I quickly pulled on a pair of Soda's denim jeans and a clean shirt when I heard Pony shuffling downstairs. At least I thought it was Pony—it was doubtful that Darry would still be home. He usually left early in the morning, 'round six-thirty. And it was nearly eight-fifteen now.

"Ponyboy!" I called, walking down the stairs with a groggy expression on my face. "Pony, you here?" I turned the corner and arrived in my kitchen, and found myself facing Two-Bit, rather than my younger brother. "Oh…hi," I said, slightly let down. I'd wanted to try and extract some more words from Pony, but he must've already left for school.

"Don't sound too happy to see me," Two-Bit remarked, smiling and taking a swig from his beer container.

I didn't return his grin—instead I nipped at a bit of buttered toast on the counter [maybe Pony had left it for me?] and snatched a comb from the table beside the fridge. I brushed the loose hairs out of my face, tucking them carefully behind my ears, though the frizz refused to die down.

"Nice hair," Two-Bit commented, his face invading the mirror I was staring into.

"Get outta my mirror," I grumbled, digging my elbow into his chest to push him away. "Hey, don't you have school today, too?" I asked, keeping my left eye on the mirror as the frizz my head had become finally decreased. My other eye was focused on the clock by the oven, which clearly read that I was already twenty-minutes late for school.

"Yeah. I'm going in late." Two-Bit took a long drag on his cigarette. The smoke smelled up the kitchen, which made me sick to my stomach.

"Oh." My tone perked a little. Oh well—at least I wouldn't be the only student arriving late. But then again…I didn't have a note. Had I already been late three times before? Hopefully not…I'd get detention for being late a forth time….

"Kathy broke up with me again," Two-Bit said randomly, and I looked at him from the corner of the mirror. He had a grimace on his face, but it was a little hard for me to show much sympathy.

"Well maybe if you'd stop cheating on her…"

"_Cheating_? No…I like to think of it as…err…_experimenting_," Two-Bit explained, leaning up against the counter and brushing a hand through his greasy hair. He'd said those words so casually that I couldn't help but to give him a venomous look, but he only grinned bitterly in reply.

"Right…" I muttered. "Maybe you should stop _experimenting_, then."

My friend opened his mouth to offer me a witty reply, but I interrupted him by slinging my book bag over my shoulder and heading towards the door.

"You coming?" I called, pausing momentarily as I opened the front door.

"I'll catch up," Two-Bit assured me, and I nodded and exited the house.

My house disappeared down the street as I grew closer and closer to my hell each moment. I wasn't anticipating going to school—I wanted to go visit Sodapop in the hospital, but I didn't have a note to get myself out of school today. Gosh, I should've gotten a second excuse from Soda last night….

My school was just within reach when a hand clamped itself down on my back. I turned and witnessed Two-Bit, grinning oddly with a cupful of beer in his palm. I rolled my eyes and nudged his hand away.

"You can't bring the beer into school, you know," I reminded him, reaching our oh-so-wonderful educational hall and holding the door open for him.

"I'm gonna pretend it's apple juice," Two-Bit remarked, stepping into the air-conditioned halls. I shuddered a little and rubbed my hands together. Why the heck did they have the air on if it was getting cold outside?

I rolled my eyes [I did that a lot] and walked in the direction of the office, and so did Two-Bit. I would need to sign in and get my detention slip for being late more than three times. Two-Bit would only need to sign in—unless he shared the same situation I did, of course.

The attendance clerk gave me a dirty look as I entered, and I actually winced on the inside. I wasn't liking her glare, and especially so as she held a piece of paper out to me when I reached her desk. It wasn't a detention slip, so I was caught off guard. It was a white paper, lined and with printed black words across the page. It was very "official", and I wasn't liking the looks of it.

"What's this?" I asked, clutching the paper in my fist. The top read _Behavioral Conference Sheet. _What did that mean? I wasn't the best with big words.

"It's a conference sheet," the attendance clerk replied sternly. "It needs to be signed and returned by your guardian—your oldest brother, Darrel, is it?"

I nodded my head and heaved a quiet sigh of relief. So Soda would just forge Darry's signature. Big deal.

"_And_," the attendance clerk continued, and my heart gave a little jolt, "a date and time for a conference needs to be marked down. Darrel needs to come in and discuss _why _you've been skipping class."

"Huh?" I raised both my eyebrows stupidly, playing oblivious. Darry would hardly be able to sign the sheet, let alone come in for a conference. He'd explode and freak out or something, and that would be bad news for me.

"Don't act like you haven't been skipping class," the clerk snapped. "We're not idiots, Miss Curtis. We've noticed the pattern."

"But I haven't—"

"One more word and you've got a second day of detention, added on to your lunch detention for being late." The clerk hesitated. Her eyes ran over my face, bitter and disgusted. I gnawed gently on my lower lip and matched her glare, which automatically caused her to write a second detention slip. "You've got lunch detention today and after school detention tomorrow. And get that slip signed and returned by the end of the week or the principal will be calling your brother personally."

"But—"

"No _buts_—now get to class so I can sign Mr. Mathews in."

My cheeks flared an ugly red color as the clerk kept her eyes on me, shooing me away with her hand. I'd never felt more angry in my entire life. Well, actually—maybe when Darry had hurt Sodapop the furiousness had been matched. Gosh, that clerk had no idea what was going on at home. And besides, Darry had work, anyway. He was really going to appreciate being pulled away from that….

"Fine!" I growled finally, raising my voice in hostility and exiting the office, slamming the glass-plated door behind me. I wished it would've shattered, but I hadn't closed it hard enough, and it didn't seem like it was worth it to go back and hit the glass.

I considered skipping school entirely, but then I realized that was what had gotten me into this mess, so repeating the crime wouldn't be the brightest idea. But then again…I wasn't the brightest girl in the world.

I spun on my heel, facing away from the tenth grade hallway and staring at the front door of the school. It was located directly beside the office, so I would have to be quick on my feet to exit without the clerk noticing.

The clerk was looking away from the door now. She grabbed a paper off her assistant's desk. Okay, three…two…one….

"You're skipping again?"

Without turning to face the sudden voice, I answered. I already knew that it was Two-Bit.

"Go to class," I snapped.

There was a slightly pregnant pause, so Two-Bit replaced it with words. "What's wrong?"

Now I was staring him in the eyes. Did it look like something was wrong? I didn't know I was that readable.

"What d'you mean _what's wrong_?" I demanded icily.

"You're shaking," Two-Bit pointed out, and it took me a moment to realize my entire body _was _trembling.

"H-huh?" Oh Lord, I was spluttering now. "No, I'm not. I just…" I didn't know what to say. So I was shaking. Did that mean I was afraid of Darry, or I was just _that _angry? I didn't know—ugh, I was so God-awful at reading people that I sometimes couldn't even understand myself.

"You just what?" Two-Bit demanded, and I sighed and realized I hadn't completed my sentence. Okay, I'd just say I wasn't feeling real good…. Sure, that'd be a decent enough excuse, wouldn't it?

"I'm just feeling lousy," I assured him, but I knew Two-Bit wasn't buying it by the way he cocked his eyebrows.

"Why won't you tell me?" Two-Bit asked, and I kind of flinched at the sound of his voice. He seemed generally sincere, but I couldn't be sure.

"Because you have the sensitivity of a grain of sand, that's why," I snarled. Damn, why was I being so rude to Two-Bit? It was almost as though I couldn't help it. I felt so angry. So furious…. And kind of afraid, too.

Two-Bit hadn't replied yet. Maybe I'd hurt him, though I considered that unlikely, or maybe he didn't know what to say. But that was unlikely, too. After all, the gang _had _come up with his nickname on account of his inability to keep his Goddamn mouth shut.

"Two-Bit?" I looked up at him for an instant, pushing the conversation forward since he obviously wasn't interested in doing so.

My friend matched my gaze. "Yeah?"

"What do you think about beating on girls?" I didn't know why I'd spoken those words so easily, so casually. It kind of felt like I'd gotten used to that idea—girls gettin' beat on by guys.

Two-Bit's eyes shied away from mine and wandered to his hand, which was reaching into his back pocket. He ended up getting a cigarette and taking a long drag on it, which was risky—seeing as he was standing in the middle of the school hallway.

"I _don't_ hit chicks...not unless I've got a good reason or somethin'," he answered finally.

"I didn't say you did."

"Then what were you saying?"

I hesitated. What _was _I saying?

"I don't know," I replied quietly.

And then I left without another word….


End file.
